Absolution
by heraldtaliar
Summary: Norrington joins the crew of the Dutchman to pay for his sins and rectify the past with its new captain. Right after AWE with flashbacks. WARNINGS: heavy angst, child abuse, MAY have unrequited slash later, or MAY NOT. Pls don't read if that bugs you
1. Chapter 1

**::Author's Notes:: **_Like many fangirls (if the amount of fanfic related to Will captaining the Dutchman posted here is any indication), I was deeply moved by the tragic ending Will faced at the end of AWE._ _I_ _have read that the little snippet after the credits means that Will was granted a second chance at life. I know I should hope for a happy ending for him, but the angst-addicted romantic in me thinks that is a cop-out and cheapens the depth of Will's sacrifice. Besides, a green flash also appeared when Will left Elizabeth on the beach before the credits, so I don't think that the green after the credits necessarily means that Will was able to return. _

_But, still, this is my angsty take on what may have happened, starting with the possibility that Norrington could somehow join the Dutchman's crew. It takes place largely right after the pre-credit events of AWE, but also contains flash backs in italics. _

_WARNINGS__: this story contains lots of angst, references to child abuse, and __may__ contain unrequited slash in later chapters, because I'm an unapologetic slash addict. If any of that bugs you, please go elsewhere. _ _There are tons of great fics out there related to this subject so if mine isn't your cup of tea, I know you can find something else that interests you. Thanks!_

At first, James Norrington imagined that he had been sentenced to hell. He was dead, that was for certain. The barnacled crewman with the starfish by his eye had skewered him clean through. As he lay dying, Jones had asked some cryptic question about whether or not James feared death. James answered by stabbing the Dutchman in one final defiant move that he hoped would buy Elizabeth some time in her escape, and then, all had been blackness. He did not know how much time had passed before he woke up, shivering and alone in a tiny dinghy, surrounded by the thickest of fogs beneath a starless sky. If this was not heaven, James reasoned, then he had to be in hell.

It was strange, but the thought of suffering eternal punishment, bobbing alone at sea with only his heavy conscience for company, was almost a relief. He had meant what he said to Elizabeth at their final parting—he had nothing to do with the death of Governor Swann, but that did not absolve him from his other sins. He had misjudged Beckett badly, and that misjudgment had cost hundreds of people who had the poor fortune to so much as meet a pirate the noose. Becket was an even greater monster than Davy Jones. James had many regrets, and he found himself longing for some sort of punishment to ease his guilty conscience.

Elizabeth had made a pointed remark about whether or not James knew which side he had chosen, and he frankly did not have an answer for it. When he had taken the Dutchman's heart on that god-forsaken island, James knew he would have done anything to get his old life back. He could not be sure that he would have done anything differently, no matter how much he wanted to believe he would have been noble and selfless.

Thoughts of his final meeting with Elizabeth spiraled downward into bitter memories and regrets of his wasted life in Port Royal. Spending so much time alone, floating aimlessly through the fog, was exquisite torture. There was nothing for James to do but obsess about his many mistakes. He had expected his thoughts to swirl around Elizabeth Swann—his fondness for her, his betrayal of her trust, his belief that if he had just told her how he felt at an earlier time, he might have stood a chance at winning her heart. As each second of the afterlife stretched on, James was surprised to find himself contemplating not only Miss Swann, but also, her blacksmith fiancé.

Their rivalry over Miss Swann's affections notwithstanding, James had always felt a certain attachment to William Turner. This had been true from the first time he had pulled the shivering child out of the sea so long ago. Maybe it was that saving someone's life made one feel a sense of responsibility to keep that person alive. He supposed that he had eternity now to figure it out. There was little else to do on so small a boat, adrift and alone, but think. A memory from the past unfolded before him, so real he could almost see it.

"_How is our patient, Miss Swann?"_

_The little girl jumped, startled. She_ _had rarely left the boy's side since her father had assigned his care to her. For all that she was merely a girl of 8 surrounded by grown military men, Elizabeth had become positively protective. James privately thought it was rather cute._

"_He mostly sleeps, Mr. Norrington," the girl said, twining her small fingers in the boy's sweat-dampened hair. "And he has a fever. I'm quite worried about him. I try to get Will to talk to me, but his eyes are always clouded and I'm not certain he understands me."_

_James smiled kindly at the girl. "It's probably best if you let him rest, Miss Swann. Our ship's doctor has said the fever is normal and he expects our young guest to make a full recovery once we return to land."_

_James had expected his words to provide the girl with some comfort, but instead, the mention of their impending arrival in Port Royal seemed only to distress her. "What will become of him? Once we reach land, I mean. One of the times, when he seemed to understand me, he told me his Mama was dead. He doesn't know where his father is, only that he's a sailor. I asked him what ship, but he didn't know, or maybe he just didn't understand me."_

_James sighed, looking upon the twitching, fevered child sadly. It was a common thing in the lower classes, or so he was told. A man would leave a woman with child and take no responsibility. The mother would make up lies so her little one would not be branded an unwanted bastard. There was little doubt in James' mind that William Turner's father had abandoned his child, if he even knew the boy existed. Even if the boy's father was truly a sailor and had simply neglected to say which ship he sailed and where, William would never find him. The size of the world seemed to be growing by the day. How could one penniless boy expect to find a single sailor in a world so large? _

_Will shifted and whimpered in his sleep. Elizabeth tore her pleading gaze from James to focus her full attention on her charge. "There there, Will," she said, taking his hand in hers. "You will be well. I promise."_

_It was amazing to James how very small and fragile the boy looked right then, pale and flushed with fever, alone and uncared for with no money or titles to sustain him. For all intents and purposes, the child was an orphan, and being an orphan in Port Royal was not a good thing. Had James been born to a different family, he could have been the one lying there with no say in his future, his fate determined by strangers who did not know or love him. _

_James felt a sudden sense of powerful determination. "Yes, child," he said to the fitfully sleeping Will. "You will be well. I promise you."_

_Elizabeth smiled at him, an expression of such pure an infectious gratitude, that James could not help but return it. "You mean it?"_

"_Of course I mean it, Miss Swann. I'm an Officer of the Royal Navy. My word is as good as gold."_

James sighed. The memory was so vivid, it was almost as though he were watching a play re-enacting his youth right before his eyes. William Turner had once been a child so quiet and unassuming, it was easy to forget he even existed. Yet he had impacted James' life in more ways than he would ever have imagined. James had made a promise that day, to Elizabeth, to Will, and to himself, and he had failed to keep that promise. Unlike the blacksmith, James had allowed ambition and selfish intentions to sway him. Perhaps that was why Turner so aggravated him—the boy was so damned noble and self-sacrificing, no matter how badly the world treated him. Norrington had not only failed to keep his promise to Will and Elizabeth when they were children, but undoubtedly, his efforts to assist Jones and Beckett would soon land them at death's door, as surely as they had doomed Governor Swann.

James was so caught up in his musings, that he did not notice that he was not alone. One moment, he was lost in a sea of fog, and the next, the fog was lifted, and he saw that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, or dinghies floating all around him. He could only assume at first these were his fellow damned, but when he saw some of the occupants were mere children, he knew he had to be wrong. What crime could a child commit that would earn them an eternity of floating aimlessly through the fog?

A loud splash drew James' attention from the ships around him, and he was horrified to realize that The Flying Dutchman had just surfaced. The souls around him became restless, and James could not blame them. It was bad enough to face eternity with his own memory tormenting him, but to have to face Jones again as well? Surely god could not be so cruel.

"Do you fear death?"

James had heard that question before, but this time, it was entirely different. Jones had spoken the words with bitter cruelty and sarcastic enjoyment—this new voice sounded tired and worn with a profound sense of sadness. James blinked his eyes and turned to face the speaker of those cursed words, not believing what he heard or even what he saw. "Turner?" How the blacksmith had wound up in Jones' place was something the former Commodore could not even begin to fathom, and for a moment, he was certain he was hallucinating. But there was no denying that face and that voice, even if both now held a ghostly quality that left James with chills.

Will started slightly, as if caught completely off guard. His eyes had been so unfocused and the words spoken so automatically and without thought, that James suspected that the young man had not realized to whom he was speaking. But there was wary recognition in those brown eyes now. "Norrington?"

Around them, the souls of the departed, some of whom had waited decades for Davy Jones to fulfill his duties, grew restless. The sounds of their wailing would have turned James' skin to gooseflesh if he were alive. But still, their spectral mutterings paled in comparison to the eerie power and otherworldliness that surrounded this once humble young blacksmith.

Will stared at James for long moments, his expression unreadable. After several long moments, he repeated his question in a voice utterly devoid of emotion. "Do you fear death, Mr. Norrington?"

_I'm being offered a choice, _James realized, and now the Dutchman's question to him prior to his death suddenly made sense. This time James was ready to answer. "Yes, I do fear death, Mr. Turner. I don't believe that I'm quite ready to go yet." _Not until I make it up to Elizabeth, to Governor Swann, to the citizens of Port Royal…and to you._

Will's expression did not change, aside from a slight widening of his eyes. He continued to regard James in stony silence, as though waiting for the Commodore to say he had misspoken. Norrington simply returned his stare, as the departed souls around them grew more and more restless.

"You have my answer, Mr. Turner," James said, trying and failing to keep his voice strong. "I understand your hesitation. I have done nothing to earn your trust, but I hope that can change. I am not ready to face my maker until I've had a chance to absolve my sins. At least some of them."

Will remained silent and staring. His whole body was cast in a ghostly glow. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath after several long moments, his voice betraying emotion for the first time.

Norrington just stared at the boy, determined and resolute, even though every instinct he possessed was telling him to recant.

With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, William nodded. "Then, welcome to the crew line…Mr. Norrington."


	2. Chapter 2

Norrington had never before been on a ship where the Captain kept himself so scarce. Sailing could be a lonely business, and the crew was the only companionship any sailor of any rank could count upon. True, they were exceedingly busy. Davy Jones had left his job unattended for so long that the sea was polluted with the souls of the dead, and it would be some time before life—or the afterlife—slowed down to a more manageable pace. They had made so many trips to the afterlife—dinghies full of lost souls in tow—and back that James had lost count.

But still, James expected to at least see Turner among his new crew occasionally, if for no other reason than to attain some level of bonding with a group of people who had to be complete strangers to him. They were going to be together for an exceedingly long time, after all. It would not surprise him if Turner didn't even know their names. Even at his most pretentious, Norrington had made certain to at least attain some degree of familiarity with his men.

Not so with Captain Turner. Will rarely left the Captain's quarters. When he was at the wheel, he usually dismissed the rest of the crew back to their hammocks, and even if he required to crew to stay on deck, he never spoke to any of them beyond what was minimally necessary to keep the ship running. When he was not at the wheel, he would occasionally emerge to issue a few terse orders, then instantly return to his solitude. He took no one with him when he visited the souls of the dead.

Norrington could sense the rest of the crew were uneasy. Aside from Turner and James himself, Norrington had come under the impression that these men were the same who had served under Jones, and no new crew had joined since James had pledged himself to the Flying Dutchman. It was rather a shock that he felt pity for these men who had so repulsed him during the brief time he spent on board while Jones was captain. James found himself wondering which crewman was the man with the starfish was who had killed him. Perhaps it was better if he didn't know.

The men were free from the sadistic Jones whose presence brought out their own worst natures, but now they were dealing not only with a new captain and renewal of their mission, but a sudden return to their human states. One would have thought going from being half shark or crab to fully human would be a blessing—but it was not without its price. James knew that these men had committed horrible crimes while serving under the Dutchman that were not necessarily of their own choosing. It was hard enough to live with the guilt of having committed monstrous deeds when one was, in fact, a monster. But to look in the mirror and see the face of a man….James knew from bitter experience how difficult that was indeed.

James resolved to corner Turner, to insist that the younger man gain the trust and confidence of this crew, but every time he tried to corner the former blacksmith, the melancholy young man would walk past him as though James were not even there. Today would be different. Today, James would get the boy to release himself from his self-imposed exile.

The young captain had spent the night at the wheel, staring silently out at the sea, his eyes distant and haunted. James watched as one of the men approached the captain. The man was clearly anxious, if his shaking hands and shuffling steps were any indication. "S..Sir," the crewman said. "I am here to relieve you."

Will ignored the man for long moments, still gazing out at the endless horizon, saying nothing.

The crewman gulped. "Sir???"

Will rested his eyes on the terrified man for only a moment, before returning his gaze to the sky and walking away from the wheel. "Calypso is angry," he said over his shoulder. His voice was so soft and subdued, but still managed to carry clearly over the ship. "We shall have new souls to fetch tonight. Be certain that the ship is ready."

"Aye, Cap'n," the crewman said, clearly relieved that the taciturn young man was leaving the deck.

Will immediately headed toward his quarters, but Norrington placed himself in his path. "Mr. Turner…"

Will regarded the former Commodore without expression. "You once lectured me about knowing my place, Mr. Norrington," he said, his voice void of the emotions that would have accompanied that statement before he had become such a ghost amongst ghosts. "I suggest you remember yours."

James sighed. He supposed it was only fair. "Captain Turner," he amended. "We need to talk."

Will sighed. "I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Norrington," he said, and tried to continue past the former Commodore.

James was having none of it. He put a hand on William's chest to try and stop him. "I don't know how you wound up in this situation, and can't begin to imagine how you feel."

Will gave a short bitter laugh. It was the first sign of real emotion James had seen from the young man since he had joined the Dutchman's crew. "Look where your hand rests, Commodore. I feel nothing."

James looked down and saw that his fingers rested upon a scar, thick and red and raw. It looked as though it had not healed at all. James had held Davy Jones' beating heart in his own hand once, but it had never occurred to him that becoming captain of the Dutchman had cost William his own. Feeling suddenly sickened, he snatched his hand back. "Mr. Turner…I'm sorry."

"Do not pity me," Will snapped, and for someone who supposedly had no heart, his eyes could certainly spark with fury. "Not you. Never you."

James suddenly felt as though he had done something terribly wrong, though he could not quite fathom what crime he had just committed. "It's only…the crew…they are uneasy in your presence. It's as plain as day."

"Well, they shall have to forgive me if their comfort is not foremost on my mind," Will said, his voice dripping in sarcasm. "But I have more important things to consider."

With those words, Will pushed past Norrington and entered his quarters, slamming the door closed behind him.

"The Captain has good reason not to fraternize with the crew."

James turned from fuming at the closed doors to face the speaker, an older man with haunted blue eyes who gazed after the Captain sadly. "And why is that?"

"The day that William became captain was not his first day on this ship. He had been here before, and he was not treated kindly," the man said.

James swallowed. "What do you mean?"

The man's already sad blue eyes clouded further. "The Bo'Sun rarely shows his face above deck for good reason. He ordered that William be flogged for something that was not even his fault. And though they did not all carry out the deed, each one of them took their pleasure in watching it, laughing at him, tossing him down the stairs and pouring salt water on his bleeding wounds when it was done."

James felt suddenly sick. He was not naive—he knew the lash was a common instrument of discipline on seagoing vessels of all kinds. It was said to be more commonly employed in the Navy than by pirates themselves. James had witnessed its use on more than one occasion, and had been disgusted at the violent brutality of it. To make a person stand in front of his peers while his flesh was stripped from his bones…. It was brutally uncivilized. Upon attaining his commission, James had sworn never to use the evil thing on his own ships. The idea that William Turner had suffered such pain and humiliation at the hands of these murdering scum filled him with a rage that surprised him. "I want you to show me the Bo'Sun who did this," he snarled. "I have some things I'd like to say to him."

The man sighed. "It was the Bo'Sun who ordered the deed, but not who carried it out. Jones was the cruelest man ever to walk this earth… Even though the Bo'Sun had attained an appalling level of skill in his task, the Dutchman knew it would be crueler if he made me do it with my own hand."

James turned to stare in surprise at this gentle-seeming man. He couldn't imagine him committing such a violent act, though he was certain the man had no real say in the matter. The man spoke of the incident with a hollow sound to his voice that made former Commodore's stomach clench, but the man's eyes were awash with feeling—anger, guilt, self-loathing and disgust. "Why would he make you do it?" James asked, suddenly wanting to know the identity of this man and why he seemed to know so much about Will. "Why was forcing you to do it so much more cruel?"

The man looked at James with a small sad smile. "They call me Bootstrap Bill, but my given name is also William Turner. Davy Jones made me do it, because Will is my son."

_His father… _Before James realized what he was doing, he drew back a fist and punched Bill square in the jaw. Bill stumbled back but managed to catch himself before he fell. Some of the rest of the crew had assembled on deck after Will had retired for the evening, and for the first time since James had been on this cursed ship, they showed signs of life and excitement, mumbling excitedly, placing bets, itching for a fight. The crew's pleasure at the prospect of watching James and Bill Turner pummel each other was enough to bring the former Commodore back to his senses. He would _not_ serve as entertainment for these worthless scallywags. For his part, Bill seemed disinclined to fight back—he just stood there, his hand on his swollen jaw, staring at the tops of his boots.

"What is going on here?"

Will's angry voice carried across the deck with unquestioned authority, and the crew fell instantly silent.

Will charged forward, his body radiating energy and rage. "I asked a question—what is going on here?"

The crew muttered amongst themselves, not wanting to be blamed, but too intimidated by the cursed Captain's anger to speak up.

Will's eyes fell on Bootstrap and he rushed to his father's side. "Father, are you hurt?" he asked, his voice going from loud and angry to soft and almost pained.

Bootstrap patted his son's hand fondly. It was enough to make Norrington want to punch the child-abandoning bastard again. "It's alright, Will. We were just having some fun. No need for anger."

"I won't allow this kind of "fun" on my ship," William said loudly, now addressing the entire crew. His whole body glowed with supernatural fury. "Who did this?"

Bootstrap opened his mouth to try once more to calm his raging son, but James spoke up before he could finish. "It was I who punched him, Mr. Turner."

Will was confused enough by the admission that he did not even notice that Norrington had, once again, neglected to call him "captain". "You? Why?"

"Because he's your father, Mr. Turner."

Will's eyes narrowed and he straightened up. Bill tried to say something, but Will would hear nothing of it. He stalked over to Norrington, and again the former Commodore was left to wonder at how a man with no heart could emanate such rage. "If you ever lay a hand upon my father again, I will toss you off of this ship and send you straight to The Locker. You know I know the way. Is that clear?"

Norrington couldn't help but bristle at Turner's tone. After all, for most of their lives, it had been James who was in the position of authority, and he'd rather liked it that way. "Perfectly, Mr. Turner."

"You will address me as Captain. If you forget it again, you will spend the remainder of your 100 years in the brig."

"Will!" Bootstrap protested.

Once again, it seemed the sound of his father's voice had a calming effect on the young man. Will closed his eyes for a moment, and the preternatural energy that had surrounded him faded to a pale, almost imperceptible glow. It was odd how, despite the tentacled face and lobster-claw hands, Jones had always appeared to be so much more of this world than his successor. "Back to your duties," Will commanded, and James marveled once more at Turner's ability to speak in a voice that was so soft and yet carried with authority to his crew.

Bootstrap reached a tentative hand to touch his son's shoulder. "Will…"

Will smiled slightly at his father, but it never reached his once-again hollow eyes. "Good night, Father," he said, then turned and went back to his quarters.

Both James and Bill watched his retreat while the rest of the crew scurried about them. After several moments, Bill turned his gaze to the Commodore, though he never fully looked James in the eye. "You know my son? You knew him before this happened?"

James could not keep the disgust out of his voice when he answered. "Yes, I know your son. I suspect I know him better than you do."

Bill flinched at the remark, but did not argue. "I would like it very much if you told me about what he was like…before."

"And why would I tell you anything," James ground out through clenched teeth.

Bill laughed, and it was not a happy sound. "I suppose you're right. Why would you? Especially when it's my fault you're both here."

A memory came to James then, of that god-forsaken island. Turner was standing on the beach, sword in hand, determined and defiant. _I keep the promises I make, Jack. I intend to free my father. I hope you're here to see it._

James' eyes widened. "Turner was fighting for the heart to rescue you. It was you who sent William that piece of cursed gold that started this entire ordeal in the first place. And furthermore, I believe it was you who raised the alarm when I was helping Elizabeth escape. You're the one who killed me."

Bill nodded, his face the very picture of guilt and self-loathing. "Yes."

James wanted nothing more in that moment than to strike the man again. But, the last thing he wanted was to test Turner's resolve. William had clearly changed drastically, and given what James had learned, he would not want to be seen as soft or idle in his threats with this particular crew. Spending 100 years in the brig was not what James had signed on for, and this child-abandoning wretch was not worth losing his chance at redemption.

With a visible effort, James Norrington reigned in his rage to regain his composure. "You sicken me," he said, willing every ounce of disgust he felt into his voice, before turning away from Bill to resume his duties, not caring about the forlorn expression on Bootstrap's face behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

_James always knew he would go far in Port Royal. The city had a notorious reputation, but there was no questioning that it had improved since he had come first arrived years ago. Governor Swann would need a strong military leader to re-establish the order that had crumbled in Norrington's absence—something James hoped would work in his favor when the elderly Commodore Stuart finally retired. _

_"Well, I believe everything is in order," Governor Swann said with a note of finality at the end of the briefing they were receiving from the Commodore. "That is, unless you have anything to add Lieutenant?"_

_ "Actually, Sir, there is the matter of William Turner," James said._

_"Oh yes, the boy," Governor Swann said offhandedly, having clearly forgotten. "We rescued a single survivor from a pirate attack, Commodore. A young boy with no family. My daughter has been quite insistent that he be properly cared for."_

_Stuart looked surprised at the subject. The fate of orphaned commoners was not something that generally occupied his mind and he tended to assume that everyone of means felt the same as he did about such things. "Is the child from a family of good standing?"_

_Governor Swann shook his head. "He claims his father is a sailor but we have no idea where he is or if he even is still alive."_

_ "To the orphanage with him," Stuart said with a careless shrug._

_James paled at the thought of that dark, squalid place. The orphanage was poorly run, overcrowded, and overrun with vermin. "I would prefer not to have him sent to the orphanage, Sir."_

_Stuart frowned at his Lieutenant. A man who held rank and station in the highest regard, the Commodore was not accustomed to having his orders questioned. "Then what do you suggest, Mr. Norrington?" he asked with blatantly false civility._

_"Perhaps there is a tradesman lacking an apprentice here? If the child has no money, indentured servitude could provide him a future," Governor Swann suggested._

_Stuart thought for a moment before replying. "The only craftsman I know of who doesn't already have an apprentice is the Smithy, Mr. Brown. Send the boy there. Port Royal must have a blacksmith, even once Brown retires." _

_The Governor nodded, but James could not share in Swann's satisfaction. He had met Mr. Brown on more than one occasion, and the encounters had not been pleasant. The man was a drunk, and a mean one at that. "Sir…if I may…"_

_Commodore Stuart stiffened, irritation and anger written into every line of his body. "What is it NOW, James?"_

_James swallowed before continuing. "I'm not certain if Mr. Brown is the ideal candidate to care for our young charge. Mr. Brown has had many apprentices, and they have all run away."_

_Stuart's eyes narrowed, and James knew he was treading in dangerous waters. This was the second time in one meeting where James had questioned his wishes, in front of the new Governor no less. The fact that this insubordination involved an orphaned commoner only made things worse. "Well, one can only hope that this child will be more grateful than the others and remember his place—as should we all."_

_James knew that he should argue on the boy's behalf. Will would not be treated well by his new Master, and James knew it. But he also knew that arguing further with the Commodore in the Governor's presence could destroy the career he had worked so hard to build. Despite his age, Stuart had a sharp memory and he did not forgive perceived slights easily. Was James really willing to endanger all that he had worked to attain for a single peasant boy he barely knew? The question was answered more easily than he would have liked to admit._

_ "Of course, Sir," James said, his voice a study in propriety towards a superior officer. "I will see to it."_

James sighed at the memory. Looking back on the incident, he knew now that if he had pursued the matter, the Governor would have supported him. James would probably still have succeeded the cold-hearted Stuart as Commodore. But, as had happened so often in James' life, he had allowed ambition to overrule his heart and the innocent had paid the price.

"Mr. Norrington."

James turned from gazing at the foggy waters of the underworld to see the captain standing behind him. He would have been pleased that Will had actually spoken to him after months of avoidance if it weren't for the captain's unfathomable expression. "Captain Turner?"

"I have something for you," Will said, presenting the former Commodore with his sword.

James felt his blood run cold. Will was offering him the very sword that Governor Swann had commissioned as a gift to mark his own rise to Commodore. Norrington had immediately known that, while Brown got all the praise and payment for the beautiful weapon, it was Turner who had actually forged it. The sword had been meant to reward James for a brilliant career. Instead, it only served to remind him of how he had failed to live up to his calling. The last person to have gifted him this weapon had been Cutler Beckett. It was hard to determine whether receiving this from the evil Lord or from the undead Captain Turner was more ironic.

"What are you waiting for?" Will asked, in that damnably flat tone of his. "Take it."

James stared at the sword as though it were cursed. "Why?"

"I have no further need of it," was the only response.

James slowly reached out and grasped the hilt, marveling once more at the skill that had gone into crafting this weapon. The balance was perfect, the grip strong and true, and the edge deadly sharp. It was strange how something so lethal could be so lovely.

Will regarded James for the briefest of moments before turning away. No doubt he intended to spend this night alone, as he had every other since James had boarded.

The significance of the gift coupled with James memories became too much for the former Commodore, and he cleared his throat in an effort to gain Will's attention. The Captain did not turn to face him, but he stopped walking away.

"This really is a beautiful sword, Captain," James said softly to the Will's back. "You had amazing skill in your craft. But it is a trade you should never have had to learn."

Will stiffened, and James could swear he could see a faint glow of power begin to surround the young man again.

"I have often wondered how you managed to learn anything at all in Brown's care," James continued, almost despite himself.

Will moved so quickly that James did not see his approach until the Captain had knocked him to the deck. William crouched above the former Commodore, his face twisted into an unrecognizable snarl. James felt the edge of a dagger pressed against his throat.

"Do not ever mention that name in my presence," Will seethed. "Ever. You don't know anything about him, or me, so don't think that you do."

The crew of the Flying Dutchman must have had a special ability to detect violence, for they had all swarmed up on the deck. They muttered excitedly amongst themselves, hoping that unlike James' altercation with Bill, this one would yield fruit.

Bootstrap Bill hurried forward, his hands held before him in a placating gesture. "William, please calm down."

James didn't understand how, being already dead, he could be in such fear for his life. He had never seen Will so angry—not even when Barbossa had kidnapped Elizabeth. "Apologies, Captain. I meant no offense."

"I don't want your apologies and I don't want your pity. Not then, not now, not ever. You're not my family, you're not my friend. We are nothing to each other. I intend to keep it that way. Calypso has granted me tremendous power. Do not tempt me to test its limits."

"William!" Bill cried. "Please stop. Heart or no heart, this isn't you!"

Will finally released his hold on James to turn his icy gaze on Bootstrap. "And how would you know who I am, Father?" he asked, making the normally affectionate name a curse.

Bill's face fell, and James was surprised to find himself feeling pity for the man. It was clear that Bootstrap loved his son dearly, and Will's words seemed to have struck the man more forcefully than a cannonball.

The brokenness of his father's expression seemed to finally reach the captain. Will closed his eyes for a moment, pulling himself together. "Mr. Norrington," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "You have the wheel." And once again he disappeared into his quarters.

"Are you alright, Mr. Norrington?" Bill asked. As always, he would not look James in the eye, which for some reason irritated the former Commodore to no end.

"Is being maddeningly evasive a family trait, Mr. Turner?"

Bill looked confused by the question. "No."

James sighed and pushed himself to his feet. "To your stations, the lot of you," he commanded impatiently.

It wasn't until hours later, when the mix of rage and guilt and self-loathing had faded, that James realized that Will had left him in control of the ship for the very first time.


	4. Chapter 4

If James had found it difficult to corner Turner prior to their altercation, it was practically impossible now. On several occasions, James tried to speak to the Captain, but Will would not even look at him. The Captain had also begun ignoring his father as well. Will had previously issued his orders through Bootstrap, who at least had some familiarity with the crew. But in the weeks since what Norrington thought of as "The Brown Incident", Will had distanced himself from his father as much as he had from James. This had forced Will to actually speak to the rest of his crew on occasion, a development James had previously anticipated but which he now found maddening.

As if Will's avoidance of them was not enough, a crewman named Maccus approached James one day with a distinctly awkward expression on his face. "Cap'n's sending you an' Bootstrap to the land of the living," the sailor muttered.

James was stunned. "Is he putting us off this ship? We're still dead, even if our bodies feel solid enough."

Maccus shook his head. "For supplies. We may be dead, but we still enjoy the taste of rum and food much as when we was livin'."

_Turner is sending me, with his father, back to the mortal realms to get __food__ and __rum_James thought in utter disbelief. Were there no limits to what the man would do to avoid them? Frankly, the former Commodore thought the captain was being rather juvenile. "Fine," he groused, not caring that he must have sounded juvenile himself.

Maccus gazed out to the sea with a faraway look, the hints of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "The land o' the living. You're a lucky 'un. Jones hardly ever came to this cursed place between worlds. Turner never wants to leave it. I'd add ten years to me sentence if I could take your place."

For all that Norrington had been beyond aggravated with Turner a moment before, he found himself suddenly defensive. "You're not actually implying that you were better off under that sadistic squid, are you?"

Maccus shrunk away from the threat in James' tone. "No. 'Course not," he said, but the former Commodore did not believe him. James couldn't help but wonder if Maccus' sentiment was shared by others on the crew, unfathomable though it may be.

The return to the mortal world was initially disorienting, but James quickly he adapted. He must have looked like just another sailor to the crowds in the market. At first, James found the feel of the sun on his face and the interaction with people who weren't the moody undead to be refreshing. He was surprised to find that pleasure wearing off quickly, however, and soon he was longing for the peaceful misty waters of the underworld. It was too noisy here, too chaotic and overcrowded. James felt like his skin was crawling.

It was a tremendous relief to turn the longboat, now loaded with rum, back out to sea. They sailed far away from land, waiting for the Dutchman to return to collect them. Something must have gone wrong, however, because the time of the rendezvous came and went with no sign of the ship. James began to grow nervous, fidgeting in his seat. "You don't think he'll just leave us here, do you?" he asked, only half serious. He rather suspected Turner was just making them wait for spite.

Bill shook his head. "No. Not my William. He will never break a promise, no matter what fate has done to him."

"Speaking of fate, I have decided that the legend of the heart is hogwash," James said grumpily.

"Why is that?"

"Because clearly, Turner can feel. He can certainly feel hate, if nothing else."

A hint of a smile crossed Bill's features. "Aye. You could be right, though I don't think he hates you. Davy Jones cut out his heart so he couldn't love anymore. But having served under him, I can safely say that his other emotions remained, possibly even intensified."

James thought about the sadistic glee in Jones' beady eyes as he had watched James die. "It does seem so," he agreed.

"Perhaps the sea-goddess has altered the curse so it affects my William differently than it did her lover. My son was not trying to escape his heart as Jones was. It was not given freely, but taken by force and circumstance. I believe my Will feels everything—feels it so strongly that the only way he can accept his fate is by locking it all away and convincing himself that his soul is as empty as his chest. I don't think he hates you, or me. But of all the crew, we are the only two who care for him, and so we're a threat to the walls he has built for himself."

James was silent for a long while as he digested Bill's words. It made sense he supposed. An eternity locked away at sea, ferrying the souls of the dead…. It would be enough to drive anyone mad with grief and heartbreak. James could only imagine, if he were in Will's position, that he would prefer emptiness to the pain. He didn't know what had happened to land Will in this position but one thing was for certain: Elizabeth Swann was not aboard the Flying Dutchman. James could only assume she lived, in the mortal world, separated from her lover save for one short day after 10 long years.

Yes, James supposed he could understand why Captain Turner was so perpetually melancholy, and why he would avoid the company of anyone who tried to get close to him.

"My poor William," Bill said, as though reading James' thoughts. "I don't know why fate has been so cruel to him."

"Why did you leave him?" James asked softly. For once his words held no malice toward the older man—only curiosity.

Bill sighed and turned his sad eyes out to sea. "I never wanted to leave him. William's mother…Sarah…was a woman of means before I entered her life. Her grandfather insisted that some distant relative of theirs had signed The Magna Carta, as if that means anything."

James couldn't help but laugh. "Believe me, I know how much things like that mean to some."

Bill smiled slightly. "I assumed you would. Well, I didn't know who she was when I made love to her, and you can imagine how her noble father received the news that his betrothed and unwed daughter was pregnant. I was a traveling peddler at the time. Imagine my surprise when I returned to London and a woman I had known for only a fortnight arrived at my wagon heavy with child. I married her of course, though she blamed me for her misfortunes as though I had forced her father to cast her out. It seemed the honorable thing to do at the time, and though before he was born, I resented William for tying me down, I swore to myself I would be a good father."

Bill's expression changed then, to one of such fondness and love that James could no longer doubt Bootstrap's devotion to his child. "When he was born…I had never seen anything so beautiful. There is nothing like welcoming a child into the world, Commodore. I'm sorry you will never know the feeling. The first time I lay my eyes on him my love was so strong I thought my heart would burst. I swore that he'd never want for anything. I would work all day and all night if I had to, but my little William would never know poverty or starvation.

"Of course, big dreams and hopes are often shattered by reality. We lived in squalor, barely getting by on what little money I could earn working at the docks. I spent all day loading and unloading ships then would come home with a broken back to the complaints of a wife who missed her servants and finery. Sarah would weep for hours for her lost wealth. I won't lie and say I never thought of leaving, but my hate for my wife was not as powerful as my love for my boy. He was the one good thing in my life, and I would not allow his mother's bile to taint my affections for him."

"But you did leave," James insisted. "Even if it was to escape some harridan you had the misfortune to wed, you abandoned him in the end."

Bill shook his head. "It wasn't by choice. Working on the docks, I managed to learn a thing or two about sailing. Pirate attacks were even worse then than they are now, and it was becoming difficult for the merchant captains to acquire a crew. A merchant sailor, Captain Taylor, offered me money for my services on his ship. I turned him down of course. I could not bear to leave my son behind. But then William caught the fever…"

Bill's eyes grew dark and distant at the memory. "Many children who caught the fever were sent to their Maker while still in the crib. Sarah was hysterical, telling me that my boy would die because his father could not afford the services of a doctor. And the baby…. I thought he would die in my very arms. Doctors in London have no care for those who cannot pay them. I told Captain Taylor that if he gave me the money now, so my son might live, I would sail for him and the captain agreed.

"I had never seen so much money. The doctor was paid and there would still be some left for food and firewood. I left that very night and did not see my little William again until he boarded the Dutchman."

"But why piracy?" James asked, though he found himself growing more understanding of Bootstrap as the sad tale went on. "I understand that you needed to provide for your wife and child. I can imagine that once you became accustomed to a sailor's living, you did not want them to be forced to make do with less. But you had to know that once you became a pirate, you could never come back home without risking the gallows."

Bill sighed sadly. "A sailor's living says you? A pittance says I. Captain Taylor was generous enough to lure me on board his ship, but that generosity was fleeting. He claimed that all the profits were taken by port tariffs and berthing fees. I sent what little I made back to Sarah, but it was barely enough to keep them clothed and fed. I swore that as soon as we made berth in London I would leave the ship and never look back, but it wasn't to be. A pirate ship attacked our vessel, and when the captain gave me the choice to join his crew or face the sword...well, I had no choice, did I?"

"No. No I suppose you didn't," James said softly.

Bill patted James hand with a self-deprecating smile. "Don't feel too much pity for me Mr. Norrington. I may have been unwilling when I first turned pirate, but that didn't last. My heart bled from being separated from my son, but I can't claim that my freedom was without its charms. I was hauling in more loot than I ever dreamed. I didn't care about the dishonest way I got it. I just told myself that it was better for my little William to have it than some wealthy merchant living in an estate on a hill. It got easier still once I started my service on the Black Pearl. Jack Sparrow had not yet gone mad, and though he would sell his own mother to save his skin, he never killed unless it was absolutely necessary. Soft, Barbossa called him. I called him friend…for a time...though if I had known then what trouble would befall my son by Jack's doing, I would have never have objected to the mutiny. Of course, by the time I lived to regret opposing Barbossa, it was too late."

James was silent for a long time before speaking. "Does William know any of this?"

Bill shook his head.

"Why?" James asked. "Why don't you tell him?"

"Tell him what?" Bill replied with a bitter laugh. "That he was conceived out of wedlock? That his mother was cast from her father's home because of his conception? That I had to go to sea and wound up a pirate and worse so that he would survive a childhood illness? I may not know my son well, but I know that he would hold himself accountable for all of these things, though none are his fault. That's the kind of man he has become. You know this. He destroyed all chance of happiness to keep a promise to me that should never have been made. He already has twice born the weight of his father's shortcomings—first under the lash and then by sacrificing everything to free me. I will not add guilt to the burdens he already bears. No—I would rather he think I abandoned himself and his mother out of my own selfish desires. That is the lesser cruelty."

James had absolutely no idea what to say. He knew Bill was right. Will _would_ blame himself for his mother and father's misfortunes. Once again, James found himself wondering why Turner had to be so damned noble all the time.

"I asked you once about my son," Bill said softly. "What he was like before he came aboard the Dutchman looking for the key. I am still hoping you will tell me about him sometime, when you are ready."

James bit his lip. He now knew he had no cause to hate Bill Turner, but that only made his own culpability more clear and focused. Bill had abandoned his son out of love, but James had abandoned him for selfish ambition. Bill's opinion of Norrington suddenly mattered, and the former Commodore did not want his past transgressions known. Although Bill Turner was by nature a gentle and quiet man, James could well imagine that would change quickly in the face of someone who mistreated his son. The cold anger in Bill's eyes when he had mentioned Jack's role in Will's troubles had been unmistakable.

Luckily, there was no need to answer now. The sea around them began to rock and swell and the Flying Dutchman surfaced soon after. James had never been so relieved to see the cursed ship and its twice-cursed crew. "Perhaps another time, Mr. Turner."

Bill nodded, then turned to Norrington with plaintive urgency. "You must promise me you won't speak to William about any of this. Please."

James smiled at the man, and for the first time, it was genuine. "You have my word, Mr. Turner," he replied. Then a crewman tossed them a line and there was no more time for talk.


	5. Chapter 5

_::Author's Notes:: Thanks again to the people who have taken the time to read and review this fic. I really appreciate it. I've been worried that I've been weaving back and forth between the flashbacks and moving forward in the story's "present". If anyone has any thoughts on if they prefer the focus to be on one or the other, or if I should just alternate like I've been trying to, I'd like to hear your opinion. _

_This chapter will get a bit emotional and angsty, just to warn everyone. Thanks again! _

_Can the dead truly get drunk?_

Evidently they could, if the chaotic scene that surrounded James as he took the wheel from Bootstrap was any indication. The vast majority of the crew was clearly soaked in rum. Several had passed out on the deck or were vomiting over the railing. A few small tussles were breaking out here and there, and there was much overly-exuberant singing and laughing piercing the quiet of the underworld. Watching the undignified behavior all around him, James could only hope he hadn't made such a fool of himself during his own stint with the bottle on Tortuga.

"They've been at it for quite some time," Bill said, as James wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I think the long time spent in these cursed and quiet waters has overwhelmed them."

"Indeed," James said dryly. "Perhaps provisioning the ship with barrels of rum was not your son's most brilliant idea."

One of the men clambered up the rigging, an overflowing mug outstretched in one hand. He waved around precariously, sloshing rum all over the rope. James expected the crewman to plummet to the deck at any moment. "To Cap'n Turner," he slurred. "'e may be an intolerable bugger, but he finally brought us rum!"

A loud chorus of "aye" greeted the toast. James would normally have been overrun with offense on Will's behalf, but the expression on Bill's normally placid face showed that Bootstrap was clearly feeling enough rage for them both.

"And to Davy Jones," the crewman continued. "'e was a cruel and wicked wretch, but 'least he allowed us to roam the livin' seas, not condemned to this hell. God rest his murderin' soul, with him, at leas', we could still have some fun!"

This time the enthusiastic shouts of "aye" were thunderous, and several mugs and bottles were poured down several throats in response.

Bill's whole being was positively seething with rage. "Aye, 'twas grand fun," he said darkly. His voice betrayed more menace than James would have thought the normally gentle man capable. "If your definition of fun includes pillaging the Seven Seas, sending the Kraken to murder the innocent, then slaughtering anyone who refused to join our wicked crew when the beast was done!"

"Bill…" James began in an effort to calm the angry father, but Bill was having none of it.

"And what fun it was when the Captain ordered no quarter, and the seas were choked with the dead! And how grand to feel the barnacles pierce our skin and watch our faces and limbs twist into a mockery of sea creatures so our very mothers would no longer recognize us. And how did the Dutchman reward us for our service? With 100 years of backbreaking labor, always under the Bo'Sun's lash while our flesh and souls rotted away. Oh yes, I can see why you would prefer Davy Jones to my son. There was a reason you lot feared death—because your souls were already blacker than the deepest pit of hell before you joined the crew, and in the joining, you could continue your wicked pleasures."

Many of the crew muttered angrily at Bill's accusing words, although one or two actually looked sheepish. The mumblings, fueled by pent-up frustration and alcohol, soon escalated, and there was a full-scale brawl on the decks of the Flying Dutchman within moments. James had no desire to be caught in the middle of it. Undead or not, he knew he could still feel pain. Grabbing Bootstrap by the arm, he shouted, "Below!"

Bill looked torn between anger on his son's behalf and contrition for the brawl he had caused, but he nodded and followed James below deck. Already the sounds of the fighting were beginning to slow, replaced once again by slurred sailor songs. James shook his head. "A pretty speech, Mr. Turner. But I would bet my soul that none of the crew were moved."

Bill's face was the picture of guilt. "I fear I may have done my William more harm than good. The murdering scum don't like my boy or his dedication to this ship's purpose. They don't like living in this misty realm ferrying souls to the next world. If this were a normal ship, and a normal crew, I fear there may have been a mutiny already."

"If anything about this situation was normal, your son would never have become a captain," James replied. "We both know this is not what he wanted."

Bill looked sadder still, and when he spoke, his voice was so soft, James could barely hear him. "Aye."

James was struck with a sudden realization. "You and I had barely even started to squabble when your son intervened. Surely he would have emerged from his self-imposed exile for a brawl of that size..."

Bill's eyes widened in fear for his child, and he dashed up the stairs to the captain's quarters, James on his heels. "William!" he shouted as he burst through the door. "Son! Where…?"

James was surprised to see William Turner, lounging in his chair, his bandana askew and a smile on his face. Several empty rum bottles rolling around the deck gave an explanation for the captain's sudden change in mood. "Oh, hello, Father. James," he greeted, as though all was right in the world.

"You're drunk!" James cried, entirely shocked at this uncharacteristic behavior.

Will looked tremendously offended. "I am not!"

"I'm afraid you are, Son," Bill said gently.

"I hate alcohol. I hate people who drink alcohol. I have never once in my life been drunk and I never shall be," Will said as if that settled the matter.

James knew he shouldn't argue, especially given his own condition on Tortuga. But Will Turner had always gotten under his skin somehow, so despite his better judgment, he couldn't stop himself from pushing the point. "You are drunk, Captain Turner," James said slowly and deliberately. "You are, in fact, so drunk that you failed to notice your crew partaking in what can only be described as a barroom brawl."

Will cocked his head to the side with a look of concentration on his face. "All I hear is singing," he said after a moment.

James threw up his hands in frustration. "You have got to be the most maddening man I have ever met."

"You must have never met Jack Sparrow then," Will said with an obnoxious grin of self-satisfaction. "If you can't abide me, he'd have you ready to shred your little white wig in moments."

"Son," Bill said quickly before James could retort. "This isn't like you. Why would you do this to yourself?"

Will rose to his feet and started stumbling around his quarters. He ruffled through the empty bottles around him, turning them over and frowning as they proved to be empty. "I'm celebrating, Father. Tia Dalma—sorry, _Calypso_—came to see me today."

"Why would a visit from the Sea Goddess be cause for celebration?" Bill asked.

Will finally found a bottle that was not empty, and he settled himself back in his chair with a hearty swig. "It wasn't the visitor, it was the news she bore."

James waited expectantly for the captain to continue, his frustration mounting when the boy chose to down more rum instead. "And what news did she bear you?" James finally asked. It took all of his effort to keep his voice civil.

"She said…" Will's face screwed up in concentration, and when he spoke again, it was in the most dreadful imitation of an island accent James had ever heard. "I be bringin' ya tidings, William Turnah. Today, you are a faddah!" Will chased the announcement with another pull on the bottle.

_A father?_ Bill had told James what had transpired in William's final hours among the living—his wedding to Elizabeth, how Jack had guided Will's hand to stab Jones' heart, and the single day the newlyweds had enjoyed together after destroying Beckett. They surely consummated the marriage on that day, and now she had given birth to his son—a son William would rarely, if ever, see.

If Calypso had been in front of him, James would have tried to strangle her for her cruelty. Hadn't the poor boy suffered enough? It was bad enough that Will was forced to work with this hateful crew in blackened waters on a thankless mission for all eternity, separated from the woman he loved. But now, Will was a father, and he could never be a meaningful part of his child's life.

"Oh William," Bill said, his voice suffused with pain for his boy and the grandchild he would never know. "Son, I'm so sorry."

Will shook his head. His eyes were still clouded with rum, but the drunken delirium was gone, replaced by a brutal sadness that was painful for James to witness. Will raised the bottle in an ironic salute. "To William Turner the Third," he said, his voice trembling. "May the fates be kinder to him than they were to his predecessors."

James had never felt so helpless in his life. All of the carefully built shields the captain had constructed around himself were crumbling before the former Commodore's very eyes, and James had no idea what he should do. He longed to comfort Will, but how could he? What words could he possibly offer to ease the pain of such an impossible situation?

A few tears had slipped down Will's face, though he still wore a bitter smile. "Only Jack Sparrow could choose as his first selfless act something that cut so cruelly," he said quietly, his voice hollow and haunted. "I told her to leave. That I didn't expect her to keep her vows. Why should she? I would never have asked her to marry me if I had known. I told her to move on, that the vows were not valid once death did us part. But that only upset her. She insisted that even if she had known what was to happen, she would have married me still. "Do you really think my love for you is not as strong as your love for me?" she said. She told me she'd wait forever. She said it was our one day in a decade and she didn't want to waste it arguing—we had to enjoy it to the fullest. I wanted to push the matter, but how could I deny her? I could never deny her."

James certainly knew that was true. He had never known William Turner to deny Elizabeth Swann anything.

"My son…" Will spoke the words as though they were in a foreign language. "I have a son…" And then the undead captain's resolve crumbled completely and he began to weep, heaving loud broken sobs that shredded James' soul to bits.

Bill was on his son in a flash, his arms wrapped around him, holding him close and rocking him gently. "Hush little one," Bootstrap whispered gently. "Your Papa is here."

"It's not supposed to hurt, Father," Will sobbed, clinging desperately to Bill, knuckles white and body trembling. "My heart…gone…not supposed to hurt like this…"

This was more than James could handle. He turned on his heel and hurried back out to the deck, the wrenching sobs of the captain searing a permanent place in his memory. He wanted to tell himself that he fled the scene out of respect for their privacy, and indeed, that was part of the truth.

But the more honest reason for his abrupt departure was the fact that Norrington simply could not bear to see William Turner in such a state. James had seen the boy brought low more times than he cared to recall—bruised and bloodied by Master Brown, insulted and overlooked by the Smithy's patrons, left to die at Barbossa's hands, and nearly arrested for setting Sparrow free—and that had all been while the boy still lived. But this…this was a different kind of low. It was a low so poignant and raw that the force of it eroded James' own sense of well being. And it was wrong, so very wrong, for someone so decent and noble to have suffered so immeasurably.

James leaned his forehead against the mast, letting the cool of the wood and the chill of the underworld mist work its way from his skin to his bones. He was surprised to find that he was panting rather raggedly, and a tiny and nearly inaudible piece of his mind wondered again at how, despite being dead, his body felt so very much alive.

Most of the crew had succumbed to their liquor and were now lying sprawled all over the deck. Only a few still stumbled about, mumbling bits and pieces of songs about the joys of piracy and the open sea. The crewman who had so caustically toasted Will and genuinely toasted Jones was among those awake, and he greeted Norrington with a sarcastic salute. "Admiral."

After all that he had learned and seen this night, James had absolutely no patience for murderers who had joined the crew simply to delay their appointments with the devil. These…people…had brutalized Will while he was alive and tormented and disrespected him in his death—and this was overlooking for the moment their clear delight when Norrington's own life had ended. In James' mind, they were savages one and all. The only reason they objected to Beckett's mission to turn the seas into a tomb was because of the control the Lord had held over their precious Davy Jones. James, Bill, Will, probably Elizabeth and Jack, and countless others had suffered more than enough for this crew's pleasure, and Norrington was thoroughly through with them and their games.

_Well, did I come here to earn my penance or didn't I?_

James grabbed the surprised crewman by the scruff of his shirt, hauled him to his feet, and dragged him over to the railing. His sword pressed against the terrified man's throat, James spoke with menacing calm. "You will listen to me, and you will repeat what I tell you to all of your worthless comrades. You _will_ respect Captain Turner, and you _will_ give him your best efforts to carry out this mission. There will be no more drunken revelry and no more speeches about the glorious days of Davy Jones. The Captain is too kind-hearted to deal with you properly, but I will not be so merciful. If I find that any of you are lagging in your tasks, or growing insolent with him, the next time the Captain leaves to fetch more worthy souls, I shall personally take this ship to the Locker and deposit you all there. Then you will have eternity to think about how splendid your life was with the Dutchman. Is that understood?"

The man nodded, clearly terrified out of his wits.

"Do not think I am less than serious about this," James continued, though he released his grip on the man. "I may not share your pleasure in others' suffering, but the dispensation of justice…that is something I truly do enjoy."

"O' course, Admiral," the man simpered. "I meant no disrespect. It was just the rum."

James' lip curled in a sarcastic smirk. "Of course. Now rouse these scallywags and get back to your duties."

The man scurried away, nodding submissively, and began to wake his fellow crewmen. Word of the threat must have spread quickly and been taken seriously, for the entire crew was now working at top speed, casting anxious glances Norrington's way.

James leaned against the wheel, quite pleased with himself. He didn't know how to get to the Locker alone, of course, and he would never steal the ship from under Turner's nose and leave the captain behind, even if only temporarily. Still, these fools didn't know that.

Perhaps James was incapable to salving the deep and numerous wounds his captain was suffering, but controlling the crew, making it even just a little bit easier for the Turners—that he could do. He could only hope that it was enough to dull the ache that was constantly throbbing in his guilty soul.


	6. Chapter 6

_**::Author's Notes:: **__I want to again thank all the people who have been sending me feedback on this story. I was really nervous posting it, and am particularly nervous about this chapter, because it's not happy or pretty—although I do think if you've read the first 5 chaps, you should have seen this coming and it's not all that graphic. _

_Obviously, I'm a fan of James—which is partly why this story has been from his POV. I just think he is a flawed character who made some pretty big mistakes in his past. __**So, please **__**be warned! T**__**his chapter takes place entirely in flashback (I'll get back to the "present" next time), it deals with child abuse, is extremely angsty, and does not cast Norrington in a very good light. If any of that bothers you, please just don't read it.**__ Thanks!_

_Lieutenant Norrington sighed in frustration. He had been sitting at his desk all morning, reviewing information about suspected pirates or pirate-sympathizers, and it was starting to give him a headache. _

_It had been a month since he had completed the crossing from England, and James expected to be out in the field by now, actually doing the work of capturing criminals. Sitting at a desk all day was not what he had envisioned for himself when he decided to come to the New World. _

_"Lieutenant Norrington?"_

_James looked up to see his secretary standing in the doorway. The poor young man looked understandably anxious, as the Lieutenant had been taking his temper out on almost everybody lately. "What is it Matthew?" James asked impatiently._

_Matthew cringed at his superior's tone, which only made James all the more irritated. "The boy, Sir. William Turner. He's here."_

_"Damn," James muttered under his breath. "Is that today?"_

_"I'm afraid so, Sir," Matthew said. "Unless you want me to send him away?"_

_James shook his head. This had already dragged on too long. "Send him in."_

_Although the doctor had declared William Turner recovered from his shortly after their arrival in Port Royal, the child had not yet been delivered to Master Brown. Instead, he had been staying in the Governor's mansion at the insistence of Elizabeth Swann. The girl had managed to convince her doting father that the boy wasn't healthy enough to leave, despite the fact that the two of them were spotted playing hide and seek quite energetically. Whenever the Governor was near, Elizabeth covered Will in blankets and insisted he was still quite ill. Having recently lost his wife, Governor Swann was willing to overlook his daughter's audacity to a point, but that point had been surpassed. Despite the girl's vehement protests, Will was to finally be delivered to his new Master._

_James shuffled through various papers on his desk until he found the contract he had negotiated with Brown three weeks past. The Master Blacksmith had been reluctant to take on another apprentice, claiming to have lost a tremendous amount of time, effort, and materials to training the last four that had run off. It had taken some persuasion on James' part to convince the man to teach Will, so the contract terms were steep. Will would be indentured to Brown for eight years as payment for his training, room and board. James knew that the smith would probably be able to lengthen the contract term by adding items such as clothing and any wasted materials on deficient crafts to Will's debt. The child would probably be in his twenties before he was finally free. It nagged at James' conscience for the moment, but it was the best he could do. Stuart wanted this, so did the Governor, and James did not have the time, patience, or standing to argue._

_James finally located the contract, and was surprised when he looked up to see a thoroughly forlorn William already standing there. The boy was clearly anxious—fingers picking at his sleeves, teeth worrying his lower lip raw. Under normal circumstances, and prior to spending so much time with Commodore Stuart, James would have felt sympathy for the child. As it was, he only felt irritated that he had to deal with this when so many more important matters required his attention. "Calm down, Mr. Turner," James said offhandedly. "It's not that bad."_

_Will shifted from foot to foot, apprehension written into every line of his body. "Begging your pardon, Sir," he said, voice trembling. "But I have heard things…"_

_"Rubbish," James interrupted. "You cannot believe everything you hear, boy. Besides, if you work hard and behave yourself, you will be fine." _

_James headed to the door, and was surprised to find that the boy was not following him. Will stood still as if rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground._

_"I don't have time for this," James said, taking a step toward the boy, which only caused the child to take another step back._

_"Sir…I'm trying to find my father."_

_"Your father," James repeated, his tone carefully neutral._

_Will nodded, his voice quivering with desperation. "He must not know about Mother. But once he does, he'll want me to come to him. So you see, Sir, I can't apprentice with Master Brown."_

_The dull ache that had been lurking at the edge of James' mind was rapidly becoming more persistent. He did __not__ want to deal with this. _

_"He's a sailor, Sir. We share the same name. Maybe you know him?" Will asked, his voice eager and tinged with more than a hint of desperation. _

_Norrington knew he really shouldn't blame the child for holding out such unrealistic hope concerning a father that James assumed had abandoned him. Will was still very young, after all. But the pressures of the job, the splitting headache, and the unfinished pile of paperwork on his desk were enough to make James snap. "What I know, boy, is that Governor Swann and myself put a great deal of effort into securing your future, and it would appear that effort is wholly unappreciated."_

_William's face fell, and he backed another step away from the Lieutenant._

_"Commodore Stuart wanted you sent to the orphanage, where you would have spent the next few years in an overcrowded shack with barely enough food and water to survive, only to be turned out penniless and unskilled when you come of age. Instead you will be learning a trade because I spoke up for you—and my superior does not like being questioned. I'm sorry that my efforts don't meet your expectations."_

_Will's eyes filled with unshed tears, his lower lip trembling from the effort of keeping them from spilling. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to be ungrateful…"_

_"You may not have meant to be, but you were," James snapped. "Now if your father comes for you, and I rather doubt he will, he can negotiate with Master Brown to pay for your remaining years of service. Barring that highly unlikely event, I suggest you show a little gratitude for the special treatment you have been given, hold your tongue, and learn your place."_

_Will dropped his head, wiping at watery eyes. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that James could barely hear him. "Yes, Sir."_

_The boy looked so pathetic that a tinge of guilt gnawed at James' mind. The Lieutenant Norrington that escorted the Swanns from England would never have been so harsh, especially to a child he had promised to look after. _

_The Lieutenant Norrington who had spent the last month toiling away for a pretentious superior officer, however, was a different man entirely. He was a man who had learned that sympathies for people like William Turner were a sign of weakness that would endanger his ability to do his job. _

_The walk to the Smithy was silent, save for the occasional sniffles coming from the cowed boy who trailed despondently but obediently behind the Lieutenant. It was an awkward journey, and James was profoundly relieved when they reached Brown's shop._

_The Master Blacksmith had clearly already been enjoying his rum, despite the early hour. The man's eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, his body and breath reeking of sweat and drink. "Lieutenant," Brown slurred, and James couldn't help the look of revulsion that crossed his face. "Is that the boy?"_

_"Yes, this is William Turner. Will, say hello to your Master."_

_Will looked more frightened than ever, standing behind James as if the Lieutenant were a shield. Nonetheless, his voice was a study in respectfulness when he greeted his new teacher. He must have taken James' words to heart. "Master Brown, thank you for accepting me." _

_Brown frowned. "They're always polite when there's company," he said to no one in particular. "It's when you're alone with 'em they show their true selves."_

_Will, who had clearly been trying to bolster his courage, faltered, glancing at James with tremendous anxiety before returning his attention to Brown. "I…I promise to do my best, Sir."_

_Perversely, Will's continued courtesy only seemed to aggravate the drunken man further. "Oh, you will, boy. I'll take no sass from you. I've had my fill o' lazy ingrates. I reckon you're much like the others. You'll give me your all and be humble abou' it, 'else you'll taste the back o' my hand and the buckle end of my belt."_

_"Mr. Brown," James said impatiently. This conversation, combined with the mounting panic in Will's eyes, was making him distinctly uncomfortable. "I don't see any need for you to threaten the boy. He hasn't done anything wrong."_

_In an instant, Brown was transformed from malevolent predator to a groveling servant. "A thousand pardons, Sir," he said, bowing his head in deference to the Lieutenant. "I meant no disrespect. It's only…I been swindled by so many boys 'afore, and this 'un kept me waiting so long after he was suppose' to come…"_

_"Well, he's here now."_

_"Aye," Brown agreed, the very picture of subservience. "That he is."_

_James could not depart this dilapidated place quickly enough. Despite the lecture he had given Will earlier, he knew that he was not leaving the boy in good or even tolerable hands. The promise James had made to both Will and Miss Swann nagged at his conscience. Brown was already threatening to beat the boy within moments of meeting him, and with no provocation whatsoever. James didn't want to think about what would happen when the boy made inevitable mistakes while learning his craft, or once night fell and Brown had swallowed god only knew how much rum. _

_But, without Stuart's support—and the Commodore had already made his views clear on the matter—there was little James could do. Will was just one individual in a town of thousands, and officers of the Royal Navy could not afford to be personally involved in every single matter that affected every single citizen of Port Royal, particularly if no laws were being broken. Unfortunately for Will, Master Brown was now the boy's legal guardian. That meant that, short of killing the boy, the master blacksmith could beat the Will to his wicked heart's content, with or without cause._

_Eager to leave this awful place and be free of the frightened eyes that were practically burning holes into his back, James shoved the contract into the drunkard's hands. "Make your mark, Mr. Brown. I am a very busy man." _

_The blacksmith quickly obliged with many mumbled thanks._

_Brown had barely finished signing the document when James snatched it away. "Good day to you, Mr. Brown. Mr. Turner," he said quickly before turning on his heel and rushing toward the door._

_"Come here boy, let me look at you."_

_Almost despite himself, James turned to see Brown grab Will's arm in a filthy grip, yanking the boy none-to-gently toward him. The blacksmith jerked the frightened child around, running his hands along Will's arms as if he were examining a piece of livestock. "Not much muscle on you, boy. Ye'll have a rough time o' it with the hammer at first. But don' think your weakness will excuse you wastin' the metals. I ain't made o'money boy. The payment for your mistakes will come out of your hide."_

_Will squirmed under the blacksmith's threats and bruising grip, and was rewarded with a stinging backhand across the face that was hard enough make the Will's nose start to bleed. "Quit fidgeting, boy," Brown commanded. "Or do you want me to take the strap to you?"_

_"No!" Will cried, trying very hard to stop struggling under the rough handling. "No, please!"_

_"Then stand still!"_

_James didn't want to see any more. Every instinct was telling him to intervene on Will's behalf, but his rational side continued to insist that there was nothing he could do. Brown was now officially Will's guardian and no laws were being broken. Besides, hadn't James already tried to warn his superior of the blacksmith's temper? And not everything James had said while lecturing Will was a lie. The orphanage was a dreadful place, and the boy would be guaranteed a future once he completed his training. It would be difficult for a while, but would serve Will's best interests in the long run—or so Norrington told himself._

_So James turned away from the disturbing scene, hastening his steps until the shop was far behind him. His hated office had never been so comforting, but he found that he still couldn't push William Turner out of his mind. He couldn't help but wonder what was happening to the boy right now, as James sat here comfortable and unmolested at his post. After reading the same sentence in one document six times without understanding it, he slammed his fist on the desk in frustration, not caring that poor Matthew had practically just jumped out of his chair at the sound._

_"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, at his wit's end. How could one boy, who by all rights should mean nothing to him, so monopolize his thoughts?_

_James knew he would never make any progress without doing something to ease his guilt, so he called his profoundly nervous secretary into his office. "Matthew," he commanded. "I want you to make an appointment. In one week's time, I intend to return to the smithy to see how our young charge is faring. Make a note of it."_

_Matthew looked surprised by the order, but answered immediately. "Of course, Sir," he said. "Right away."_

_James sighed with relief. Surely William would survive a single week in Brown's care relatively unscathed. His conscience at least partially salved, Norrington was finally able to return to his work._

_For nearly six months, Matthew made weekly arrangements for Lieutenant Norrington to visit Master Brown's shop, but James somehow always managed to find a reason not to go. In the end, not a single one of the appointments was kept._


	7. Chapter 7

_::Author's notes:: Yet again, I want to thank my reviewers. I really struggled with this chapter. This one has moved back into "the present", but I know that most of you who have been reviewing want more flashbacks. I promise the flashbacks will be the focus of the next chapter, so please bear with me through this one. Hopefully, it's not as boring as I fear it is. Thanks again! _

"Caught in a memory?"

James jumped at Bill's question, startled back to the present. The day, so long ago, when he delivered Will to Master Brown, had been thrust upon him such clarity, he could practically feel the heat of the forge warming his skin.

"Caught in a memory," James repeated awkwardly. Bootstrap was the last person he wanted to see after that particular remembrance. Well, perhaps the second to last…. "I can't think of a better explanation for what has been happening to me since I first came to these god-forsaken waters."

"It is the nature of this place," Bill said with an understanding nod. "The sea goddess said that this is a place for the departed to reflect on their deeds before crossing into the next world. The most defining memories of your life wash over you, so strongly it's like you are reliving the past. We are meant to come to grips with our life's meaning so we can rest in peace." A small ironic smile tugged at the corner of the elder Turner's lips. "Speaking for myself, it hasn't quite worked out that way."

Norrington nodded silently, still not ready to look Bill in the eye.

"I believe that is why the crew longs for the days when Jones abandoned his duties and plundered the living seas. One hundred years of repeating your foulest deeds is enough to drive an ordinary man mad. For those of us whose souls are darker than most, it's almost more than one can stand."

James nodded silently, suddenly not wanting to meet Bootstrap's eyes. "Indeed."

Bill smiled kindly at the younger man. "Come now, Admiral," he said with a friendly clap on the younger man's shoulder. "I have only known you for a short time, but I know you are a good man."

"You have no idea," James replied softly. "If you knew…if I ever told you…you'd hate me as much as you hate the crew who were cursing your son last night."

Bill's brow furrowed, but before he could ask for an explanation, the younger Turner was suddenly there. James wondered if the ability to materialize from thin air was one of the many powers Calypso had granted the young captain.

"Mr. Norrington, I need to speak with you," Will said briskly. "Privately."

His interrupted conversation with James forgotten, Bill fixed his attention on his visibly distressed son. It was only scant hours ago that Will had been sobbing brokenly over the news of his newborn child. "Is something wrong, Little One?" he asked, reaching forward as if to caress the younger Turner's face.

Will flinched away from the touch. "Father," he began, gently but firmly. "How can I expect the crew to respect me if you insist on treating me like a child?"

Bill looked surprised and slightly embarrassed by the quiet admonishment. "I'm sorry, Son. I didn't mean…I never wanted to…"

It was clear to James that Will felt rather guilty for chiding his own father. But to be fair, the former Commodore couldn't blame the captain for not wanting to be addressed as "Little One" in front of the crew. "It's alright, Father," Will said, with a small smile. "I know you meant well."

Bill nodded sheepishly but remained silent.

Will appeared to be almost pained by his father's reaction, but said nothing more on the matter. Instead, he turned his attention to James, and the confused affection that was always in the captain's eyes in the presence of Bill vanished. "Mr. Norrington, to my quarters," Will said, his voice brisk and businesslike.

James really didn't know what the captain wanted and wasn't eager to find out. The memories of Will's emotional outburst the previous night and the day James had delivered the boy to Master Brown were far too fresh in his mind. In the best of circumstances, Norrington's relationship with Will Turner was strained and awkward—in circumstances like these, it was nearly intolerable.

There was nothing James could do, of course. So he followed the captain back to his quarters, although all he wanted was to be as far away from anyone named "Turner" as possible.

Will practically fell into the chair behind his desk, clearly exhausted to the core. Long awkward moments passed before he finally spoke. "I must apologize to you, Mr. Norrington, for my behavior last night."

James was so startled that he actually met his captain's gaze.

"The news of my son's birth…was something of a shock," Will said quietly. "I wasn't prepared for it and I dealt with it poorly. I won't show such a lack of judgment again."

James didn't know whether he should be annoyed or awed. Surely the captain couldn't think that seeking solace in a bottle and indulging in a few tears was unacceptable given the circumstances? The former commodore didn't think he had ever met anyone so ready to flagellate himself as William Turner. "Your apology is entirely unnecessary, Mr. Turner…"

"However," Will interrupted, his voice suddenly harsh. "That does not give you the right to undermine my authority with the crew."

James was absolutely stunned. He didn't have the slightest idea what the captain could possibly be talking about, and for several moments, all he could do was stare at the irate young man.

"It is difficult enough to maintain control with this particular crew without you threatening to steal _my_ ship out from under me. If someone is to be sent to the Locker, that decision will be made by me and me alone."

James had moved past being stunned and was now becoming angry. "I was trying to help you, Mr. Turner."

"_Captain_ Turner," Will corrected. "I have discussed this with you repeatedly. I would think someone with your breeding and education could remember so simple a matter. But apparently, you think your sacred concept of "knowing one's place" applies to everyone but you."

"Apologies, _Captain_," James said with a sarcastic bow of his head. "But you'll have to excuse me if I find your anger at me for reprimanding the crew last night to be a bit unfair. As you said yourself, you were hardly in a proper state of mind to handle it yourself."

Will's eyes narrowed to slits. "When you were an Admiral, or even when you were a Lieutenant, did any of your underlings ever complain about you?"

James knew they probably had more often than he cared to realize, but he hardly felt the need to confess that to Will Turner. "I suppose it's possible."

"I can tell you for a fact they did, because I heard them."

James' only response was a stony glare.

"And when this happened, how often did your inferiors act as your nursemaids, threatening to punish your men because they had better sense than to like you?"

James had to resist the urge to strangle the young man. Even though James had been on this ship for over a year, he still could not stomach the former blacksmith talking down to him, captain or no. "Never, to my knowledge…"

"And how would you have liked it if they had?" Will asked.

James wanted nothing more than to fire back with some witty retort. He had never been good at losing an argument with anyone, but having to concede a point to Will Turner was positively maddening! "…….I would not have wanted that."

"Why not?"

James ground his teeth in frustration. "Because I would want the men in the lower ranks to know that I could command on my own without needing a babysitter to protect me."

"Well, then, Mr. Norrington," Will said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Can you understand why I would ask for the same courtesy?"

James refused to acknowledge the point, but he knew his agreement was written in the sour expression on his face.

"I know these sailors dislike me. I can understand why they do. Under Jones they did not have to stay here, reliving their past transgressions and most painful memories every day. It's hard enough to maintain my authority here having been their prisoner before my death. You, however, were in charge of this ship for a short time, even if you were acting as Beckett's pawn. You gave orders to Davy Jones himself. Given all that, not to mention your lineage and military rank, the crew may not like you, but they respect you. How can _I_ hope to earn their respect with you making it so abundantly clear that you don't think I can handle the task of captaining this ship?"

James anger and irritation faded away with the question, and he once again found himself speechless for several moments. "Mr. Turner," he said finally. "I don't think that at all."

Will once again fixed James with that stony glare. "Evidently, you don't even consider me worthy of the title of Captain."

James cursed himself under his breath. He couldn't understand why it was so hard for him to remember. He had never had trouble remembering rank and titles during his days in the Royal Navy. "Apologies, Captain," he said softly, trying to put every ounce of the sincerity he felt into his words. "It won't happen again."

"So you say," Will replied, sounding suddenly weary. "And so you have said before. I half expect you to start calling me "boy" again at any moment."

James had never felt so frustrated in his life. This was not how he wanted things to be. Why was it that everything he said or did in this life or the last that involved William Turner always turned out so poorly?

"Captain," James said, fixing the former blacksmith with a look of utter desperation. "I don't doubt your ability to captain this ship. You have done a commendable job under terrible circumstances, and my respect for you has only deepened since I came here. Please believe that I never actually intended to carry out my threat. I would never commandeer your ship or pass sentence on your crew. I only wanted to frighten them into behaving themselves. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"I suppose you can't have been," Will said, his voice suddenly soft. "You had just learned that the woman you loved gave birth to another man's child."

James was absolutely dumbfounded. Was _that_ what the boy thought this was all about? "You think I resent you for Elizabeth."

"Don't you?"

James thought for a moment before replying. "I don't deny that I loved her…that part of me loves her still. But I know now that she never felt for me as I felt for her. I admit I resented you for a time after she first broke our engagement…but that resentment is in the past."

Will did not look convinced. "Why did you come here?" he asked with a heavy sigh.

Truth be told, James had been asking himself that question a lot lately. There were many answers, he supposed—the piles of bodies taken daily from the noose, even more bodies slaughtered at sea—but he didn't feel particularly comfortable discussing those sins with a man who was himself the object of regrets of a far more personal nature. Instead, he chose the one reason that seemed the easiest to offer. "I came here to help you," he said with as much sincerity as he could put in the words. "Not because I don't think you can handle yourself, but because no one could possibly meet the duties you've been charged with all alone."

Will looked as though he didn't know whether to be skeptical or insulted. "And since when has my well-being been your concern?"

James couldn't help but flinch at the question. "I know I have done little to prove myself to you, Mr. Turner, but even you have to concede I have not been completely amiss. I _did_ send the Navy after you when you were being held by Barbossa."

"Only when Elizabeth agreed to marry you," Will retorted. "It was her "wedding present", remember?"

"I came nonetheless!"

"I don't remember seeing you in that cave on Isla Del Muerta," Will snapped. "In fact, I believe you were waiting around in a longboat, letting Barbossa's crew slaughter your men, while Jack and Elizabeth did the work of actually coming for me. Your only concern was not my life, but capturing the pirates."

"I called the guards away when you set Sparrow free."

"As I recall, it was Governor Swann who called off the guards, and only once his daughter put herself in the way."

James was getting desperate now. Surely he hadn't been a complete ass in every matter concerning Will Turner? Had he? "I allowed Elizabeth to break our engagement so she could be with you," he said lamely, knowing fully well he was being a fool, but not ready to accept just how cold he had been.

Will didn't even acknowledge the comment.

James was surprised to find himself fidgeting in his seat. The captain's cold gaze pinned him like a thousand daggers. "Mr. Turner…"

"_Captain_!" Will shouted, so angry now that he leapt to his feet. "You would never have tolerated such disrespect from me, and I won't tolerate it from you! Whether you like it or not, I am the one Calypso charged with this ship. You are just a mere crewman—not an officer, not a military man—a simple sailor no different or better than any other on this ship!"

James was so surprised by the outburst that all he could do was stare up at the infuriated young man in silent shock.

"Let me help you with the real answer to my question," Will said, his voice quivering with more emotions than James cared to identify. "You are here because you led a selfish life where nothing mattered to you but your own ambition. You knew Beckett would have control over Davy Jones when you stole the heart, and you knew that he was an evil man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. You knew that he would slaughter thousands of people on the noose and at sea. But, like me, these people were commoners in your eyes, not worthy of your consideration. Elizabeth may have been moved by your sacrifice, and I will always be in your debt for helping to free her—but unlike my wife I can see your act for what it really was. You did not question your return to power and glory until Elizabeth and her father—two people whose lineage and standing made them worthy in your eyes—were damaged by Beckett's deeds. Only then did you finally decide to act."

James felt as though he had been slapped. Turner's words cut deep and harsh, and to his horror, he found himself realizing they all were true. The former Commodore was surprised to feel tears pricking at the backs of his eyes.

"Once you were dead, floating on that dinghy for days and forced to face the kind of man you really are, it was too much for you to bear. So when I came to you, you saw not a man in need of helping, but an opportunity. You saw in me one of the many people you had wronged, and you thought that if you served on my ship, that would somehow erase all the evil you helped to cause in life.

"Well, Mr. Norrington, I have bad news for you. I am not interested in healing your conscience. I will not tell you that anything you did to me or to anyone else you wronged is absolved. You will never earn my forgiveness—not for abandoning me to a man you knew would mistreat me when I was a defenseless child, not for leaving me to die at the hands of Barbossa's crew, not for stealing the heart and setting in motion a chain of circumstances that led to so many deaths, including Governor Swann's and my own, not for any of it! You say you came here to help me, but I would rather I had never met you!"

It was all James could do to get his voice to work at all. "Mister...Captain Turner," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Will threw up his hands in frustration. "Haven't you heard a thing I just said? I DON'T CARE!"

James nodded, rising quickly to his feet. "You're right. I'm sorry," he babbled, backing away in a hurried retreat.

Already the captain's anger was melting into guilt and regret. It was written all over the younger man's face. For some reason, that only made the former Commodore feel worse than ever. "Mr. Norrington…"

But James didn't think he could handle an apology from Will Turner just now. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll just… I'll let you be," he mumbled, then hastily fled from the captain's quarters, so he could try to get a hold of his overwhelming emotions alone.


	8. Chapter 8

_::Author's notes:: As I promised in the last update, this chapter will deal with flashbacks containing __**child abuse**__**If reading that bothers you, please don't continue**_

_Moreover, I've received several requests to show my horrible imaginings of Will's childhood through his own eyes, so I've attempted to do that here. Hopefully, that isn't too jarring, given that the whole rest of the story is from James POV. Also, I know absolutely NOTHING about blacksmithing or sword crafting, so if there are any inaccuracies here I'm sorry. Sorry for taking so long to update. I do this during my lunchbreak at work and work has been nuts and besides, I've been really struggling with this chapter after all the buildup. _

Will watched Norrington's hasty retreat with a growing sense of guilt. He knew he was being unfair to the former commodore. Norrington was, after all, a product of his environment and upbringing. Everyone knew that Officers of His Majesty's Royal Navy did not get involved with the common people any more than was necessary to maintain order. James was no worse than any of the other members of the upper class that Will had encountered in England or in the Caribbean. In all honesty, the captain had to admit the mere fact that James allowed Will to live after helping a wanted pirate commandeer a Navy vessel, then helping said pirate escape in front of the entire population of Port Royal, made Norrington a more lenient man than most of his kind. And to be fair, James could not possibly have known just how much damage Beckett had planned once he controlled Davy Jones. No one—with the possible exception of interfering heathen goddesses—could predict the future.

Ever since the day his father had cut out his heart, Will had been intimately connected to the ship. He could sense every member of its crew at all times, even when he was sleeping. The crew's eerie chant, "Part of the ship, part of the crew" had proven to be prophetic. Nothing was said or done while he was on board without his knowledge. And although Will knew that he had just unfairly used Norrington as a convenient target for his own pain and frustration, he also instinctively knew that James wanted, no _needed_, to be left alone. An apology now would only make Norrington feel worse, which was exactly the opposite of what Will wanted.

Will flopped down onto his bed, exhausted to the core. He couldn't recall the last time he'd slept. The very sight of everyone here—Davy Jones' crew, Norrington, his father—reminded him of the most painful parts of his past. Will Turner was never one to wallow in self-pity, even when it was well deserved, but he could feel his mind crumbling from the pressure and pain. He was constantly on edge, always ready to snap at anyone around him. He was losing himself, bit by bit, every day—so much so he feared that when the decade passed, Elizabeth Turner would hardly recognize him. Alarmingly, he found himself beginning to understand how it was that Davy Jones was driven to such cruel madness.

Will grimaced at that last thought. That was completely unacceptable. Jones was a monster—an evil beast who could not bear to see anyone else experience pleasure while the Dutchman himself was consumed with nothing but pain. Jones' hate had been so bitter and all-consuming that he had preferred ruining Will and Elizabeth's chances at happiness over saving his own heart from Jack. Will could never be like that…..could he?

Much as he wanted to believe he couldn't, there was no denying the overpowering rage that had filled him when arguing with James earlier. Will never felt such irrational anger and hate before, and it frightened him to no end. After all, Davy Jones had been a man too once…

_Dammit!_

He couldn't think like this anymore. He was nothing like Jones. He was William Turner, humble blacksmith, son of the gentle Bootstrap Bill, husband of the brave and passionate Elizabeth Swann, and father of her innocent child. He was a man who tried so hard to be honest, noble, and pure, that Jack had once declared him a hopeless git who couldn't enjoy himself if he tried. If being around Norrington and the rest of the crew put him on edge, if their very presence made him feel such dark urges for vengeance, he would simply have to continue to avoid them. James may not understand it, and Bill certainly never would, but that was how it had to be. Will's eternal soul, not to mention the souls of everyone in his charge, depended on his ability to maintain his sanity and keep the darkness at bay.

_I have no heart. I feel nothing._

That's what Will kept telling himself as he finally drifted into a restless and desperately needed sleep.

_Will's arms trembled with exhaustion as he held the steel to the fire. He was painfully aware of Master Brown hovering over him, itching for the boy to give his teacher an excuse to beat him. _

_It was very difficult to concentrate with the blacksmith glaring such hateful daggers at him, but for the sake of his own skin, Will gave it his all. The boy knew that, if he made a mistake, Brown would choose to interpret the error as an act of willful disobedience on his apprentice's part. It didn't matter that Will's fingers were singed and blistered from the heat, or that the boy had not been allowed to eat or drink since yesterday morning. The withholding of sustenance was among the Master Blacksmith's favorite ways of tormenting the child, and Brown didn't see hunger, thirst, soreness, or exhaustion as an excuse for any missteps. As if that weren't enough, the perpetually bitter man had awoken in an even fouler mood than usual, and had been snapping at his apprentice all morning over trifles that would not come to a more rational man's attention._

_It was so hot in the forge that Will's vision was getting blurred. His throat was so dry he could hardly breathe, and the smoke, ash, and dehydration only made it that much worse. His mouth may have been parched, but his palms were slicked with sweat. Biting his lip in concentration, he told himself he __would__not__ spill the liquefying metal into the fire. Even though he felt ready to collapse from weakness and exhaustion, he knew that discomfort would be nothing compared to the pain that would await him if he lost even a few drops._

_To say that Will hated it here would have been a grand understatement. Day after day, he worked himself to the bone for Master Brown, but it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he was never good enough. The master blacksmith took a great deal of joy in taking his own misery out on his apprentice. Will's body bore the marks of Brown's displeasure, his skin covered in a patchwork of cuts and bruises. Day after day the master found an excuse to punish his apprentice for some trifle or other, and at night, when the rum took hold, it was even worse._

_The metal was almost heated to the proper temperature now, and Will allowed himself a tiny smile of relief. Maybe today, if he tried very hard, he could do the impossible and please his master. _

_Brown apparently had other plans. _

_Will was so focused on holding his aching arms steady that he didn't notice his master inching closer. Apparently, for all of the blacksmith's complaints about wasting materials, money was less important to him than having an excuse to mistreat his charge. Will was completely caught off guard as Brown "accidentally" bumped into him, brushing against wounds from a recent beating. Will gasped, from pain and surprise, as the tongs slipped out of his fingers, the precious steel spilling into the fire with a hiss._

_It was no surprise what came next. With a roar of anger, Brown grabbed the cowering boy by his hair and threw him over a workbench that was kept clear for such occasions. Will squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the edge of the table so hard his fingers turned white as his master tore at the boy's clothing until his back and backside were bare. An admonishment from his mother echoed from his memory—Sarah Turner frowning, a half-empty bottle of wine in her hand, snapping at him that it was a disgrace for boys to whimper and cry. Will tried hard to honor his mother's expectations, but as the strap cracked against already bruised and battered skin, he couldn't hold it in. The screams came, like they always did, tearing out of his dry throat, and then the tears, seeping out through his tightly closed eyes. He felt his flesh tear and blood run down his legs and back. He wondered how he had any skin left. _

_After what felt like an eternity, Brown's arm finally began to tire, and he dropped the strap on the filthy smithy floor, panting and rubbing his overexerted limb. He stalked over to the sobbing child, grabbed him by a handful of hair and flung him on the ground. The blacksmith's arms were tired from hammering at both the boy and the metals, but his legs were holding strong, and he put them to good use on the fetal form of his apprentice. Will curled in on himself as tightly as possible, his arms instinctively wrapping around his head. He cried out that he was sorry, that it would never happen again, but Brown could not hear the boy over his own shouting._

_"You stupid, worthless, ungrateful li'l bastard! Are you trying ta ruin me? I take you in, I feed and clothe you, and this is the thanks I get? I've lost more stock 'cause of you in the last month than I did the whole year before ya came! If it weren't for the good Guv'nor's interest in you, I'd 'ave turned you out on the streets long ago!"_

_Brown continued on for some time, screaming at Will that he was less than worthless, kicking mercilessly. Will had become accustomed to frequent beatings since he had come here, but this was even worse than usual and he had no idea why. There had not been much metal lost to the fire because the small project had been meant as practice—no customers would be kept waiting for Will's loss. _

_Whatever the reason, the master blacksmith was in a rage so intense, it put his other rampages to shame. Curled up in on himself, trying hard to protect his head and vital organs, Will began to believe this would never end. Not since the pirates had attacked on the crossing from England had he been so afraid for his life. He could taste blood in his mouth and the screams he had been producing earlier were muted down to a dull whimper by his ragged throat. For the first time, Will feared that Brown might not actually stop until he was dead. He would die here, on the filthy smithy floor, and no one would care._

_Abruptly, the kicking stopped. Will kept himself tightly curled for several moments. He could hear Brown panting above him, out of breath from overexertion, but no more blows came. After long moments, Will cautiously risked peeking over his bruised arms and was surprised to see Brown staring at him with a look of utter shock. It was as though the master blacksmith had no idea why he had just beaten his apprentice within an inch of his life, and that he could not believe just how much damage he had done._

_Will stared up at his master, watching the dawning horror on the man's face. Brown's mouth worked for a moment as if he were trying to speak, then he abruptly turned on his heel and fled the shop._

_This was not the first time that Brown had emerged from such a violent fit looking surprised and sickened at what he had just done. The last time, Brown had perversely decided to soothe his conscience by drinking himself into an even bigger rage than the one that had sent him seeking the bottle in the first place. Will began to tremble. He could not survive a repeat of that night. _

_Will pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling and his vision blurred. He had tried to be good and serve Brown to the best of his ability, but that was never enough. He had to leave. He wouldn't survive here. _

_Besides, his father must be looking for him. He was sure of it. It was a belief he had clung to from the day he had found his mother's body stiff and still in their tiny home. Their neighbor from across the street, a woman Sarah Turner's age named Ruth, had come to see him after the constable had left. Ruth was always been kind to Will (though she couldn't have made it more clear that she hated the boy's mother), and the look in her eyes had been sad and gentle as she crouched down and hugged the weeping boy tight to her._

"Go and find your Papa, Dearie," she said. "Take what li'l money he sent your Mum that she didn' spend and go. I won't have you in tha' awful orphanage."

"How will I know him when I see him?" Will sobbed. "I never met him really. I was a baby when he left."

Ruth wiped at his eyes and smiled sadly, her gaze far away. "No father ever loved 'is boy the way your Papa loved you. You may not know 'is face, but even with you grown, 'e'll know yours." Her eyes lowered, gazing at the medallion that Bill had sent his son just a few months before. She smiled sadly and stroked at the large piece of gold. "Bill Turner would never abandon his precious boy to the orphanage. No doubt in me mind abou' that."

_ Will's fingers went to the place where the medallion had once hung before he lost it in the crossing. There was no reason to doubt Miss Ruth's words. She was one of the few people in Will's life who had always treated him kindly. How could his father ever find him locked away in this miserable smithy? More importantly, how could his father ever find him if he were dead?_

_Steeling his resolve, Will walked out of the shop as quickly as his aching body would allow, determined to find his father once and for all—no matter what it took. _


End file.
